Chinatown (1974)

"Middle of a drought and the water commissioner drowns..."

SPOILERS

Best film about utilities and nonces ever. Ironic, seeing as it was directed by a man who urgently needs to get on a plane to the very city that this film is about to face the charge of being a nonce himself. But let's not get distracted by a certain heinous event in 1977 for which the perpetrator has yet to face justice...

Annoyingly, even nonces can direct films which are exquisite works of art. It's a film noir, it's a whodunit, it's an early '70s auteur film in the same vein as Scorsese and Coppola's stuff. The 1930s as a setting is glorious, the whole fictionalised history of the Los Angeles Water Wars manages to completely avoid being, ahem, dry, and Jack Nicholson is the best Philip Marlowe ever as he plays Jake Gittes. Faye Dunaway also impresses as the femme fatale who turns out not to be that at all, and John Huston(!) is suitably evil as the rich old corrupt nonce who causes so much misery.

One thing, though: why does Katherine pretend to be her mum/sis and hire Jake to expose the rather nice Hollis as an adulterer? If it's a hint at getting him to find out about the conspiracy then it's a rather odd one. But the film is a triumph, and reminds us of just how much Los Angeles is a desert city, unnaturally watered. Ironic that the Los Angeles Aqueduct was designed by William Mulholland, and that I would have watched Mulholland Drive tonight if Amazon Prime had been civilised and had subtitles...

Jessica Jones: AKA Top Shelf Perverts

"We both know you don't own a vacuum cleaner...”

Wow. Jessica has really hit rock bottom after last week; Luke’s stinging rejection has really affected her. We know that, narratively speaking, there’s no way she’s going to get locked up in Superman for the rest of her life for a trumped up crime of her own devising in the middle episode of the season is dark, dark, dark. Jessica is a very damaged person.

And the reason for that damage is as foregrounded as ever as we finally get a personal confrontation between Jessica and Kilgrave in which both Ritter and Tennant are magnificent. Kilgrave is the textbook abuser her, entitled to have Jessica just because he thinks he loves her. She’s the object of his “aff futons” and thus an object, to be allowed no agency at all. He’s refusing to use his powers directly on her but that doesn’t mean this is about anything other than a disturbing need to control. All this is every bit as disturbing as his murder of Ruben.

We also see Trish’s mother, and apparently Jessica’s adoptive stepmother, as we begin to get some backstory regarding Jessica’s childhood. And Will is going off the rails, tracking Kilgrave without being honest to Trish about what he’s doing. Here’s my prediction; he’s going to get himself killed.

Hogarth’s ex blackmails her for 75% of her assets; this means war, and brings this plot thread from
The background to the fore. I’m sure something will snap soon. It’s a decisively eventful middle episode, ending with Jessica seemingly helpless in Kilgrave’s orbit.  This is brutally good telly.

White Zombie (1932)

"I'm too old to go all the way with you!"

Oh dear. I was all set to watch Brighton Rock with Richard Attenborough but, due to a disappointing lack of subtitles on behalf of Amazon Prime, I thought I'd watch this instead. Not my best decision; it's a plodding, dull, poorly shot melodrama that may only last 70 minutes but feels much, much longer. Not very good, to put it mildly, and you can sort of see the slide in Bela Lugosi's career starting here, in a performance that is just repeating Dracula.

Still, bad film though this is, it remains an interesting cultural artifact and not only because it was the name of Rob Zombie's band for a few years before he found himself having far more success with his solo career and sacked the band. It's set, like the later I Walked with a Zombie, in Haiti and sees the zombie entirely through the prism of Haitian voodoo legend. Even the title of the film suggests it was widely seen as a Haitian or, at most, West African thing. The zombie at this point owes very little to the post-Night of the Living Dead concept; here it is implied to be the result of a drug that mimics death, allowing the voodoo baddie to "resurrect" the body as his docile servant. No biting or brain munching here. Indeed, zombies are said to be worked for long hours in plantations and sugar factories, and it's impossible not to see this, in the Caribbean of all places, in the context of slavery. This isn't the apocalypse; it's abuse of workers' rights.

None of that makes this film worth seeing, though. You have been warned!

Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004)

"You're my favourite person. But every so often you can be a real c***."

And so we come to the second part, with Elle unexpectedly killing Budd with a hidden black mamba while the Bride plucks out Elle's remaining eye, leaving her blind and thrashing around.

Only Bill is left. But the story is fleshed out, with a monochrome flashback to the wedding and an extended heart to heat between our two protagonists at the end, with Bill's monologue about Superman finally giving us some proper Tarantino dialogue but also allowing the film to end with fully explored characterisation. There's plenty of aestheticised violence in this second part but this time around we get the characterisation and backstory. We also have a name: er, Beatrix Kiddo.

We also get a proper visual tribute to Chinese martial arts and, it seems, to Monty Python and the Holy Grail with the very silly character of "Gordon" Liu's Pai Mei, the bushy eyebrowed and delightfully rude ancient martial arts master with a beard to marvel at. All scenes featuring him are comedy gold. He's rude, sadistic, bigoted and easily the most likeable character in the film. Oh, and on the subject of cameos we also get Sid Haig as a barman and Samuel L. Jackson as... could it be an older, wiser Jules?

It's a satisfying ending, perhaps more so than expected, and the two parts together make a more balanced and fleshed-out film than the pure fetishised violence of the first half. And the direction, of course, is equally magnificent. I'm so glad I've finally seen this. More Tarantino before too long, methinks.

Anastasia (1997)

"That's what I hate about this government. Everything's in red."

 Ok, let's forget historical accuracy. Rasputin died in December 1916, a full two months before the revolution, yes. And Anastasia was killed with the rest of her family in Yekaterinburg in July 1918 along with the rest of the former imperial family. But let us forget such things, much as we forget how silly it is to travel from Germany to France (by map, naturally) by sailing round Denmark. Why? Because artistic licence, because this was Mrs Llamastrangler's favourite film when she was younger, and because it's an entertaining and kid-friendly piece of superior ersatz Disney.

The plot is predictable; Anastasia survives in defiance of the historical record and heads to Paris to find her grandmother and validation, all the while falling gradually in love, screwball comedy style, and ending up happy if no longer royal- who needs those useless Romanovs anyway?

It's a superb cast, with Christopher Lloyd superb in a rare villainous role as the surely too scary for kids ghostly Rasputin, but Meg Ryan and John Cusack (the most '90s stars ever) steal the show. The animation, still hand-drawn, is gorgeous, and I appreciate the various nods to contemporary art and especially the Toulouse Lautrec version of the Moulin Rouge. Yes, it's for kids; yes, narrative rides roughshod over historical accuracy; but there are far worse ways to spend ninety minutes.

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

"Well... the television said that's the right thing to do!

Yes, I know, you were expecting Kill Bill, Vol. 2. Over the weekend, I promise! In the meantime, this: the first modern zombie film, establishing all the tropes of the genre as we know it today. From this point onwards zombies are no longer portrayed in terms of their Haitian origins- no voodoo dolls here: compare this to Hammer’s The Plague of the Zombies from Just two years prior. Fitting, then, the film should have a black lead in Duane Jones, although his eventual fate is so depressingly 1968 America.

The film is superb, in spite of its cast of unknown; brilliantly shot in glorious monochrome with fantastic camera angles and magnificent use of shadows. The musical score is highly effective, too. This is a proper horror film that does that old-fashioned thing of making you jump. The whole thing reminds me of the base under siege stories that were being done in Doctor Who at the time, complete with the small cast of flawed characters.

But this film, of course, establishes the tropes of the newish genre it’s creating. Everybody dies, of course, although it isn’t made explicit that civilisation is doomed, with some semblance of state authority remaining at the end. I suspect it is indeed doomed, though, in a world where anyone who dies for any reason will be almost instantly reanimated. Interesting, though, that the plague is said to be caused by mysterious radiation from a returning probe to Venus; it’s all very atomic age.

I can understand why this film is seen as such a horror classic. It really is that good. I only regret that it took the unfortunate death of the great George A. Romero to drive me to watch it

Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)

"Your instrument is quite impressive..."

I saw this film at the pictures back in 2003, when I was still in my twenties. I enjoyed myself, but never somehow got round to seeing part 2, something which will, I assure you, be remedied within the week. I liked the film then; I like it just as much now, having seen it for a second time.

It's often said of Quentin Tarantino that his main distinguishing feature is the aestheticisation of violence. This film could be said to be the purest expression of that, jettisoning Tarantino's trademark dialogue for an entire film's worth of beautifully shot ultraviolence. The film takes its time in showing us what is really a very simple plot: the Bride, in revenge for the deaths of her new husband, the baby in her belly and everyone present, sets out to kill the first two of five people responsible for her wedding day massacre.But this film is all about form- aesthetics- over content in the best possible way.

Forget realism. This film takes place in a universe where, even post-9/11, planes carry holders for passengers' samurai swords and there exists no pesky law enforcement institutions to rudely interfere with one's mission of revenge, Thgis is Tarantino's tribute to both Japan and to the Hong Kongmartial arts films from the '70s, beginning the film with an explicit tribute to Shaw Brothers and casting Chia-Hui "Gordon" Liu. Most of the film consists of the Bride's meticulous yet fantastical assassination of O-Ren Ishii, a delightfully entertaining baddie who, in a film chock full of superb female roles, assumes the role of main baddie with aplomb, vying well with the Bride in who can generate the biggest jets of CGI blood via the severing of various major body parts.

The direction is superb, with cam era angles to dies for and flashbacks marked out both by use of monochrome and animation. The multinational cast hints heavily at the film's Eastern origins and, while the lack of flashy dialogue or, indeed, of flashy narrative, makes this no Pulp Fiction, I look forward to the second part...

The BFG (1989 TV Film)

"I think, on the whole, I prefer the bagpipes."

This magnificently quirky (and somewhat druggy feeling) animation from Cosgrove Hall of Dangermouse and Count Duckula fame is obviously a superb and enormously fun rendering of Roald Dahl's wonderful novel, well cast with the BFG being rather predictably played by a rather good David Jason, although I have no idea what accent that is supposed to be. Still, it's wonderful, superb, excellent. Watch it now; it was a British TV movie in 1989 so relatively few people worldwide will have done so.

It would be churlish, therefore, to sit here and poke holes is the plot of a film (and novel) which is truly wonderful and has brought joy to millions. Unfortunately, I'm a bit of a churl.

So, firstly, how on Earth did the BFG get started with all this psychedelic dream stuff? Why is he the only giant to have a job, for which he seemingly isn't paid? Why do the other giants not know about the dreamland and how is he managing to keep the secret? Why are there only nine of them? How do they reproduce, as they all seem to be male? How does their economy function to keep them in nicely furnished houses?

And then there's the constitutional scandals. Queen Elizabeth II is seen directing military activities without Parliamentary oversight! The head of Sophie's orphanage is subjected to cruel extra-judicial punishment by the monarch in direct contravention of both Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights! And Sophie is released into the custody of some strange tall bloke who had made no provision for either her education or health needs. Have social services been informed?

This may be a charming if somewhat druggy film that is justifiably remembers with much fondness, yes. But wait until Charter 88 hears about this...

Jessica Jones: AKA You're a Winner

"Of course they're ok. I don't hurt dogs."

Narratively in the context of the season, of course (SPOILERS!) this is The Episode Where Luke Finds Out. It's halfway through the season so naturally it's time to build a big wedge between the two of them. But the way it's done is devastating, a massive blow that someone decent like Luke, whom she cares about, should be so disgusted with her. Yet this, like everything, is the consequence of that abusive relationship with Killgrave, who spends the episode carefully, and legally, with minimal use of powers, acquiring ownership of Jessica's childhood home. It doesn't get much creepier than that.

What gives the ending its punch, of course, is that Jessica and Luke end up working together and, after Luke hears the gist about what happened with Killgrave from Malcolm, he thinks he knows why they split up, and it doesn't take long before they sleep together. It's clear from these brief scenes just how much she likes him, and how much his rejection of her must hurt.

Elsewhere, Hope gets herself an illicit abortion as there's no way she can stomach giving birth to Killgrave's child, a foetus conceived by rape. We get the eye-opening revelation that Pam won't sleep with Hogarth before marriage because "I'm Catholic"- people who refuse to make sure they're sexually compatible with you before getting married are not taking the marriage seriously, and I'm not sure what Pam's agenda is here.

One other weird thing- Hogarth wants Hope's dead foetus. Why? A solid episode, though, in a series that continues to impress.

Apocalypse Now (1979)

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning..."

 I may have waited until I was forty but at last I can claim to have seen this troubled yet magnificent and iconic film, and now at last I know where the phrase "Charlie don't surf" comes from. But there#s so much more, and not just the well-known set pieces with eccentric warfare, surfing chat and Ride of the Valkyries.  No; this modern take on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness (which I read long ago, in Florida, when I was nineteen) doesn't just transplant the events from the Belgian Congo to Vietnam but imparts added meaning. There's far more going on in this film than a single viewing can pick up, but there's the barbarity and ethics of warfare, misogyny, mortality and so much more, and it all feels so much more profound for the extraordinary skilled direction from Francis Ford Coppola.

It doesn't feel over-long; yes, Kurtz (a magnificent Marlon Brando, always filmed in some degree of shadow as metaphor for the character's ambiguity) is held back to the end, being built up slowly until his final, iconic appearance, but the film is equally about the events that happen to Willard (an extraordinary and very young Martin Sheen) along the way, alongside such characters as Chef, Clean (a teenage Laurence Fishburne) Dennis Hopper's nameless fawning photojournalist and the unforgettable Colonel Bill Kilgore. There's more than a hint of Aguirre: Wrath of God in how the journey along the river is shot, but the characters feel real and human; this isn't some aloof art flick.

There's a surprisingly small part for Harrison Ford but the cast as a whole is magnificent and entirely worthy of what must surely be one of the finest films ever made, however difficult it's creation.

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes! (1978)

"The tomatoes are coming!"

Oh my. That's... quite a cultural experience. What have I just watched?

So very low budget; totally devoid of stars (the most "famous" person in the film seems to be Gregg Berger, who would provide the voice for Grimlock in the Transformers cartoon the following decade), and many of the big roles are played by people with no other screen credits. And yet... this is absolutely wonderful.

There isn't so much a plot here, or at least no more so than there is in the first two Monty Python films; instead we get a series of linked sketches, all showing us some very Pythonesqye humour; indeed, the whole thing reminds me of the tennis-playing blancmange sketch. The film is chick full of brilliant sketches, including an interesting precursor of the Two Ronnies' famous "crossed lines" sketch. And it's all so splendidly '70s, with a superb skewering of the advertising agency, although with a very jarring bit of anti-Japanese racism near the start. And the tomatoes themselves... words fail me.

The conclusion is, of course, both random and inspired, imparting the important moral message that chart pop is evil, and the final scene with the carrot promises, or threatens, a sequel. I'm, well, defeated by this film...

Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)

"It's a bit like one of those old houses in horror films."

"I see what you mean. It's like Boris Karloff's going to pop up any minute..."

Wow. A late '60s horror film with a very genre cast (what a cast though!) that manages to be not at all kitsch as its Hammer and Amicus cousins usually are but, in spite of being very much full of the usual cliched tropes, is actually a film of genuine quality. Then again, it's scripted by the two men behind The Web of Fear.

Christopher Lee and Boris Karloff both excel in roles that suit their perspective brands of silky, sinister charisma, although sadly Barbara Steele's role is too small to be worth much comment. Mark Eden does well as the hero, although it's a shame that Robert gets such a tiresomely and predictably rapey scene with Virginia Wetherell's Eve, something that dates the film every bit as much as the '60s fire engine at the end.

The true star is the script, though- this tale of a witch burned unjustly at the stake under Cromwell and seeking bloody revenge over the centuries involving violence, fear and, er, a fair bit of BDSM from the very start, and centred around an old house with a hidden past may be typically gothic fare with a huge number of horror film cliches all present and correct right down to the petrol pump attendant warning us off the house in question, but the execution is undeniably superb. Don't mistake it for one of the many films of a similar type with a similar cast at a similar time; this one is well worth watching.

The Terror (1963)

"Mark you, you are getting yourself into things beyond your understanding!"

Roger Corman, O Roger Corman, you have your tropes. I mean, this film isn't even based on a Poe story but it might as well be. It's all typically gothic, set in "the remains of a noble house" and full of the sinister suggestion that the sins of the past may come to find us. Oh, and we have Boris Karloff and Jack Nicholson in the same film, a witch, a bloke getting his eyes pecked out by a bird, and Nicholson being delightfully excessive throughout in really trying to find motivation in the cipher of a character he's playing; he actually manages to imbue his shitty lines with some depth. Wow.

But let's not be too harsh; this is a fun film and exactly what you'd expect from Corman. It's a precious artifact from those last few years of Boris Karloff's life in which he was again fashionable, and both he and Nicholson are excellent in a competent film, if a cheap one and formulaic in the best possible way. This is pure distilled Corman, with two excellent performances from its leads, so much so that we can avoid the unfortunate continuity error about when Ilsa is supposed to have died, and the frankly implausible twist about the Baron that comes at the end. What counts is atmosphere, and Karloff, and Nicholson. Typical Corman in the best possible way.